Heroes and Misfits
by Swiftwing
Summary: I NEED REVIEWS! I THIRST FOR FLAMES...yep there will be romance in the future...hehe..not quite sure how..hehe..my first fan fic. please read..I will love you forever.


**Disclaimer**- I am not worthy to own such a glorious thing such as the sacred Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling has the honors.

(**A/N**– I hope you like this story! I wrote this during one of my more _unusual_ moods! Cheers. )

_Chapter 1- A Small World After All_

Fred and George were in trouble. Not really the trouble that they would usually make at school, but the shocking disorder that they tended to create for themselves. Unfortunately, that type of trouble had to be the worst in the wizarding world. After blasting off dramatically on their "hero" broomsticks, the twins found themselves lost in the eerie fogginess above Hogwarts. Clinging to the frozen end of his broomstick with one numb hand, Fred anxiously felt in the inside of his soggy knapsack with his other to hear the reassuring clink of the remaining galleons. Luckily, there were three left.

For fun, Fred decided to once again bully his brother George.

"Now why do you suppose oh _idiot _George, that we _somehow_ lost the very map that you were supposed to bring?"asked Fred sarcastically.

George shrugged and took out a chocolate frog and started to eat it.

"I dunno," George muttered as he munched with his mouth horrifically full,"Weren't you supposed to pack the bloody fireworks, steal Umbridge's wand, and knock on Draco Malfoy's priggish head three times for good luck? Honestly Fred, I think we're smart enough to figure a way out of this situation, and you don't have to blame "little old me" for all of your mistakes."

Fred sniffed disdainfully and looked away out into the fog. He was still not finished with George, but he was rather disgusted that his latter half had the indecency to talk and eat like Goyle, not that his brother wasn't naturally always a pig. Taking a deep breath for his usual long-winded award-winning speech, Fred started to rant and rave.

"Yes, and little Georgie gets _all_ the credit for _all_ the nasty tricks while faithful old Fred works his buttocks off. George lazes around drinking butterbeer to his heart's content, while I do his homework! And all the girls gaze at George and thinks he's some freakin' genius, while I am a social mishap taking only half the credit! And who found that bloody Marauders Map? And who actually came up with the idea about the fireworks? And who came up with the idea about the joke shop and the artificial swamp? Eh? Sound familiar?"

"Not really." The fatal words left George's mouth as he flew in front of Fred. George was failing to mention that all jobs not done by him were actually Fred's responsibility, but a headache was settling in from too much chocolate and the sizeable altitude. He shouted back to his annoyed brother over his shoulder.

"I think we should head to Mum's!"

"You're joking!"

"For once, hehe... no."

"You're bloody crazy!"

"So you agree with me?"

"Yes...no, you duffer."

"Then where do you want to go oh "brother-whom-I-love-so much"?"

"How about anywhere else?"

"Sounds brilliant to me!"

The conversation went on and on for many more hours.

(_I don't really want to bother you with the petty details of their conversation. Luckily, there were no insults about either of them being ugly, because, that would prove to us how brainless they really are.)_

So Fred and George traveled for days and days up high in the sky until...they looked down, and through the depressing fog they could see a cute little cottage that had tiny pink flamingos in the front yard. Looking down, the twins noticed that the flamingos were somehow magically charmed to bob up and down while squawking melodiously to the song, "It's A Small World".

George looked like he was going to be sick, which was blatantly obvious by the growing green color of his face.

Fred muttered to himself.

"..pink..stupid......flamingos...."

George recovered quickly, looked at Fred, and smirked. He sneered in his brother's face and laughed,

"Well, well, who would have known that my tough twin is vulnerable to those pathetic pink birdies? Honestly Fred, get a hold of yourself!"

George smirked once again, wiped the chocolate stains off his mouth, wiped his filthy hands on his once-clean robe, and started descending slowly to the ground. The rebellious twin reluctantly followed.

**_Meanwhile..._**

Snape was depressed. He had to admit that fact to himself. Unfortunately, the anti-depressant pills weren't working, and his psychiatrist was scared to death that the formidable potions teacher would hex him into oblivion. "Snivellus" hated being misunderstood. He had been sent home at the beginning of the school year to recover from the mental stress of his position at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore had the nerve to say that he should spend the whole year relaxing. The _whole year_. Honestly, sometimes Dumbledore was almost as oblivious as that imbecile Potter boy. When thinking about Potter, Snape frowned and felt his anger build up like a raging hot furnace. Then he remembered his "cooling-down" exercises. Breathing deeply, he sat on the tiled dark-green floor and hummed a little song to himself about pain and suffering for a certain someone with a scar on his forehead. It was actually quite a pleasant song really. Then he concentrated on sleeping in a warm bed, reading a thrilling dark arts book, and... drinking hot chocolate. _Yes_, hot chocolate.

Severus slowly shuffled into his miserable kitchen. The smell of rotting...tomatoes was almost unbearable. He looked out the dirty window next to the fridge and muttered.

"....pink...stupid.......flamingos...."

After getting a hold of himself, Snape sighed, took out his polished wand, and conjured himself up a cup of cocoa. The marshmallows were so _gooey_ and _bubbly_. He smiled and hummed to himself while sipping the delightful drink, but then frowned when he remembered that he had a "supposed" bad reputation to maintain.

Something pecked at the window. Snape sighed and took out his wand again. The window slowly creaked open and let in a cool and refreshing breeze...and an owl. The bird clumsily fell in, clattered across the kitchen table, and dropped _The Daily Prophet _right next to his steaming cup. Snape looked at the bird in disgust. He had been right to name the owl Potter, for the bird was indeed ugly and slow and arrogant...Snape felt the red grow in his eyes as Potter preened himself. He thought about being stuck in a cutesy little cottage with nothing but insufferable birds surrounding him. Let's say, this day was not one of his better days.

(**A/N** - Yay! I'm so happy I have this short chapter over. Whether you like the story or not, I'm not quite sure when the next chapter will come out, but all you readers (if there are any...) will have to make do with this right now! Happy Holidays! -Swiftwing)


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